As Mimi gets older there is less and less tracking that my brain has to do for her. She’ll tell me if she’s hungry. She’ll tell me if she’s wet. She’ll tell me if she’s tired. One by one I am getting some brain cells back. And now I remember the intense domestic fantasies I used to have, fueled by late-night Agatha Christie and BBC binges. I remember that I have a picnic basket and a croquet set. I remember how much I loved my blue and white china. I remember when I bought house plants just to have a sense of responsibility for another living thing.
I hope the memories of my Anglophilia stick with me. They would be useful for de-junkification and decoration of our house, which looks thoroughly lived-in these days. They would be useful for enchanting my little daughter (we need to pack some picnics in that basket). And they’re useful for comparison to my real life, now.
What did that dream-life in the English countryside comprise? Let’s see. Tea and letters in bed in the morning. Long walks in the woods. Low tea in the afternoon. A library with a fireplace, squashy chairs, and lots of books. Glittering Christmases. A nearby village with a tea shop, a yarn shop, and a used book shop. Flower gardens.
And what do I really have? Coffee brought to me while I read email in the morning. Long walks in the woods. Snacktime in the afternoon. A great room with a fireplace, squashy chairs, and lots of books. Glittering Christmases. A nearby village with a sports bar, a quilt shop, and used clothing shop. Five flower beds and a vegetable garden.
See? Dreams really do come true.